午宴之歌

买了这本书. 一来为了仔细研读,力图翻译准确; 二来为了留做纪念, 毕竟是第一次看诗歌改编的剧, 更是第一次接触诗歌翻译.
片子本身我不想再评论, 这种片子需要自己逐字逐句去体会. 看的次数越多, 便越是感叹语言的魅力. 就是这样在字斟句酌之间, 不经意的,好些台词几乎都记在心里了. (然而我要再啰嗦一句: 这种文学性太强的诗歌并不适合当作教材'学英文', 本诗一些用词和表达方式, 英国人表示他们自己也看不太懂, 更别提使用了.)

剧中的台词, 全是直接用的原诗句, 但不可避免有删掉的部分, 所以打算把原诗当中没有编进本剧的章节敲出来, 有兴趣的可以看看.

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注1: 括号中的是剧中出现过的, 方便大家定位.
注2: 大小写, 换行, 标点, 均依照faber&faber出版社2010年版 (http://www.faber.co.uk/work/song-of-lunch/9780571273522/).
<1>
(Keep your imagination peeled and see
Virginia Woolf
loping off to the library
with a trug full of books.)
At every twentieth step,
she takes a sharp drag at a cigarette
and pulls a tormented face
as if she had never tasted anything
so disgusting.

(And there goes T.S. Eliot,
bound for his first martini of the day.
With his gig-lamps and his immaculate sheen,)
he eases pastyou like a limousine:
a powerful American model.

<2>
(Gaggles of tourists straggle
more provocatively than ever;)
the approach to Bedford Square is blocked:
orange plastic barriers--
our century's major contribution
to the junk art of street furniture!

(Never mind, he's making good time--
note the active verb--
and he expects she'll be late.)
So he allows himself to feel
pleasure in his own fleetness,
in not being carried but riding
the currents and eddies
of the human torrent.

And occasionally stopping
to let another pass,
unthanked politeness being
the ultimate gesture
of the metropolitan dandy.

<3>
(The restaurant
is an old haunt,
though he hasn't been there for years;)
not since the publishing trade,
once the province
of swashbucklers and buccaneers,
was waylaid by suits and calculators,
and a strict afternoon
curfew imposed.

Farewell to long lunches
and other boozy pursuits!
Hail to the new age
of the desk potato,
strict hours of imprisonment
and eyesight tortured
by an impassive electronic screen!

Sometimes, though, a man needs
to go out on the rampage,
throw conscientious time-keeping
to the winds,
help kill a few bottles--
and bugger the consequences.
If not a right, exactly,
it's a rite,
and therefore approved in the sight
of some notional higher authority.

<4>
Lunch being a game with few rules,
and those unwritten,
it's important to him that the field of play
remain the same
as he fondly remembers it.

(Zanzotti's: unreformed Soho Italian.
...
cultureless, fly-by-night.)

He stops for a scrawny lad
wheeling a big, unsteady,
rust-patched, festering bin
to park at the roadside,
and wonders what he will find.

<5>
And that's where Dylan Thomas
scrounged ten bob off him,
then set about seducing his girl.

Not.

Seriously, though,
what will they say when they look back
at our demythologised age?

Postmodern Times:
garrulous, garish classic
starring

some idiot off the box.

Charlie Cretin!
Needs work.

Craplin? Forget it.

He cuts down Meard Street,
now much too smart for its name
but where he remembers
a knocking-shop henever went into--
feral whores at the window--
turns the corner, crosses,
and (hey presto:
Zanzotti's edges into view.)

<6>
Same tricolore paintwork,
thick from repeated coats
and somehow suggesting edibility.

Same signwriter's cursive
festooning the fascia-board
and flanked by the same brass lamps.

It's so much the same, it almost
looks like a replica.

The Wardour Street wideboys and creatives
must love it,
must think it's the campest retro--
when it's the real thing.

Through a gap in the blind,
he can see quite a few of them in there already.
Well, never mind.

He wishes no one ill.

Democracy of the feeding-trough;
swill and let swill.

He and his hand on the door-handle,
and foot on the grooved step,
(when he suddently recollects--
what, precisely?

Deja vu? Some artistic analogy?)

A true liminal moment,
or simply a trick
of the dictionary-picker's skittering brain?

Eye-corner glimpse
of fugitive epiphany
that, for several beats,
he pursues in vain.

(Too bad. Let it go.)

He has his hand still on the dimpled
brass bul of the door-handle.

Which he turns, noticing
the familiar loose-jointedness:
that's a promissing sign.

With the meekest bump of resistance
from the spring contraption overhead,
the door yields and he steps inside
to stand on the prickled mat,
peering into the gloom.

Midday twilight,
requiring adjustment
of all the senses
before it delivers its secrets.

He scans the room,
which is deeper than you might guess from the street,
registers its busyness,
and wonders which of the few
untaken covers will be his.
Not that one by the door
to the toilets, he hopes;
nor the one with too much window light.
Snug privacy is what he wants:
to be tucked away from the bustle:
ideally, over there.

(On the threshold, on the edge
of a shadow-world)

<7>
(Without a smile, without a word,
he is eybrowed and nodded to follow.)

Which he does, past tables,
past people at tables,
he is careful not to brush
with either himself or his shoulder-bag.

Aloof carriage, side=steps,
calculated indirection:
it's as much a dance as a walk.

And it gets him nicely
to the spot he had spotted
from the door.
Laid for two. A little island. An eyot.
Perfect.

<8>
(We said we wouldn't look back.)

Innocent jaunty wistful
ditty from the wings
and would run uninterrupted
if he didn't shoo it away.

Just one of those things.
Ditto.

A song for every cliche!

Though it was more, he's perfectly sure,
than a bell that now and then

(Why did she e-mail him
suggesting)
No, he

Woofs of laughter
in imprecise unison
from a table, all men,
jolly good company,
off to his right.

He draws a breadstick,
wrong brand, from its ripped sheath
and beheads it with a bite.

<9>
In twilight himself
(he commands, nice word,
a clear view of the entrance,
...
What will she look like?)

On his third tasteless
but moreish breadstick,
he's startled: she's changed.
But he's wrong. She hasn't. She isn't.

Back to his chewing:
the fragmentation
and mashing of rusk
soothingly loud
in the isolated chamber of his skull.

<10>
(Hello?)

He jolts. Ice cubes
slurrily clatter
to the bottom of the tumbler
as he bumps it back on the table.
Wiping his wet lip
also expresses surprise.

(She's here. How did that happen!)

<11>
(Have some wine,) he adds,
any stage business
being better than a dry.
(I'm afraid it hasn't really had time,
but

He pours into the two glasses,
measuring by ear
identical notes,)
then doesn't put the bottle down.
He has a speech to deliver.

(...
And they drink.
Becoming palatable.)

Her expression expresses no judgement
and she puts the glass down.

(You haven't changed.
...
It's almost all pizzas,)
he apologises
before she has read a word.
(I'm afraid the place has gone to the dogs.)

She looks around, cursorily.

(Don't be absurd, it's fine.)

<12>
Across the table
across clean cloth and clutter
she leans and wooingly twice
with middle finger
nudges him on the knuckle.

(Come on, no sulks. Be nice. Sois sage.
...
Pax,) he agrees, aggrieved.

And they shake hands,
a squeeze of fingers rather:
hers light then tight
then light again in his,
then efficiently retrieved.

<13>
He is startled from this reckless
plunge into memory
by his own awareness of it:
like snpping out of a doze.
How long can it have lasted?
Gone some time.

(But she seems not to have noticed,
...
you were practically seducing him
a minute ago.)

She swivels her gaze back:
smiling, surprisingly.

(It's nice to know
you're still madly jealous.)

<14>
(And we'll need another bottle of this.)

The waiter goes:
one of those fellows
you'd describe as nondescript
if the word wasn't forbidden.
How many times
in some author's manuscript
has he crossed it out and written
There is nothing that cannot be described.
But in this particular case,
searching in ain
for any distinctive feature,
he may allow and exception.

From that thought idly
on a ride of the eye
around the room--
the bustle, the hubbub--
he travels to the next:
a small dark waitress carrying
three filled plates
from the kitchen hatch
reverses pauses turns proceeds
with such practised fluency
that he'd like to catch
her eye to show her
his appreciation
and be rewar

       片子不长，诗句很美~当斯内普遇上特里劳妮，也许压抑深沉的基调就早已注定。低沉完美的嗓音，深情细腻的原诗，连续两遍，说不清的若有所失就像弥漫在空气中一样，道不出原委，却不来不去，静静淌过，从片头至片尾。是什么让原本心底的诺言失效，让那些念念不忘最终被置之度外。。。是岁月呵，还是彼此呢？。。。我们终于成为了再无瓜葛陌生人，这个结论如此坚定又如此令人受伤。坚定得一如当恋情一开始相信一定会从此携手与共的信念一样；受伤，就像一件融入自身记忆个人成长的物件出乎预料的突然割除，好似被放了冷枪一般，虽不致命，却也伤的不深不浅，一经提起便会长久的隐隐作痛，这大概可称之为爱的余威吧，是如此的不可阻挡。
       会有人觉得女人占上风，男人可怜么？其实他们一样的，一样会感怀于原来曾与之共享过一个灵魂的另一具肉体今天与自己截然不同的模样吧。曾经靠的那么近，应此也更对比出此时此刻这中间隔着的距离，无法精确，大抵刚好一个餐桌，是彼此够不着彼此的距离。女人打扮得有多精致直接反应她对面的人至少曾经于她来说是多麽的举足轻重，才让她远从巴黎就这样翩然而至只为赴这一次短暂而无望的午宴。他们都忘不了时光长河另一端的彼此，无奈他们已经在不同的方向上跑的太久，一切都已不再。只叹那流失的时光和那个你。再见吧，走远的不可追。那些空空荡荡却嗡嗡作响的若有所失便是那不可阻挡的爱的余威。

曾经那个喜欢过多年的人呢来信说：每年要在京半年之久，有时间见面叙叙旧吧。上班开会的间隙些许的失神了一下，犹豫之后还是删掉了那能联络的方式。
偶尔的时候会想，再见会如何？
他还会是那个曾经在阳光下笑的一脸痞气的样子吗？
而我还会是那个无论他如何都满心满眼的喜欢他的样子吗？

回忆永远是今不如昔啊
她不再是那个活力的青春的少女，她的手上还是有了皱纹。她不再是那个眼眸有着爱意的人，她也不会用身体温暖他愉悦他。
而他也不再是曾经那个意气风发的少年，他的脸上开始有了失意的神情。他不再是那个酒桌上让人愉悦的伙伴，他开始苛责和失去控制。

在自己爱人的城市晃荡，晃荡到你知道的爱人的地方，却没有勇气敲门。熟悉的桥段，每个深爱的人似乎都经历过或者暗想过。也正因为如此才让那首好久不见成为ktv经典的歌曲吧。在一起的时候要唱，分开的时候也唱。每个人都在臆测，如果有一天真的在那个城市，在那个咖啡店我遇见了她，会怎样的说好久不见呢？

今不如昔，索性让那些回忆就永远封存变成美好的回忆。让那个你记忆中的完美的人永远激励你前行就好了。还是不如不见吧

头沾湿 无可避免
伦敦总依恋雨点
乘早机 忍耐着呵欠
完全为见你一面
寻得到 尘封小店
回不到相恋那天
灵气大概早被污染
谁为了生活不变

越渴望见面然后发现
中间隔着那十年
我想见的笑脸 只有怀念
不懂 怎去再聊天
像我在往日还未抽烟
不知你怎么变迁
似等了一百年 忽已明白
即使再见面 成熟地表演
不如不见

对于Alan迷来说，这部电影并不是一个花痴圣品，虽然将近50分钟的电影几乎全是Alan的特写，但这里的Alan既不是性感魅惑的优雅反派，也不是深情款款的英国绅士，而只是一个小有才华却有点潦倒有点猥琐的中年老男人，在一个默默无闻的小出版社里混日子，对着光彩照人的前女友不知所措。

一部由诗歌改编成的仅47分钟的短片，在轻柔醇厚如红酒般的男声旁白中娓娓道来，诉尽平生辛苦，有着四两拨千斤的气魄。

或许是诗歌本身的凝练含蓄所致，影片情节虽然细碎却不失紧凑，其中的戏剧性也都集中在他和她毫不搭调的对话上，他满脑子神游，说话刻薄而带有讽刺，失魂落魄，她却显得居高临下，对于他的种种毛病带着见怪不怪的包容，就像每一个对前男友仍有感情，怀着歉意，但还是恨铁不成钢的前女友一样。

故事中并没有说明两人见面的原因，是他在拥挤的办公室里闷得窒息了吗？是想给庸烦的生活找个出口？还是他根本还在期待着什么？

然而，一切一如往昔却已今非昔比。

我愿意相信他是去唤醒那沉睡的青春记忆，今日生活已如此无趣，当初怎么也不相信会活到这个境地，还是去找找过去甜蜜的时光吧，哪怕只是一顿午饭也好。曾经的柔情蜜意如今想来仍历历在目，甚至都不敢相信都过了这么久了？

五年？十年？……十五年！

我想他只是发现自己老了，他害怕老去，他或许后悔了？当初为什么没有留住他呢？如果他留住了她呢，生活会怎么样呢？我们也许可以想象出他年轻时是个什么样的人，才华横溢，幽默潇洒，却脆弱而狂妄，就如同身边的很多男孩一样，而她，也可以想象一下，温柔甜蜜，开朗明媚，聪明而优雅，渴望华丽多彩的生活。哪个女孩对自己的终生伴侣不是精挑细选呢？哪个女孩不是希望把婚姻当做一生的依靠呢？谁敢去选择一个毫安全感的人呢？他还是不能明白她离开她的原因，他不去管那些庸俗的现实，其实我们无法评说谁的选择是对的，是像他那样寄情于诗酒，还是像她那样面对现实。

但她俨然像个胜利者那样去数落他，破坏了他追忆往昔的雅兴。她仍是优雅迷人，却难有往日的柔情，他醒悟了吗？哦，不，红酒入喉，还是醉去吧！

英国人特有的幽默，如同这个国家出了名的保守与含蓄一样，它不像美国那种迪斯尼式的夸张，而是同所有英国贵族一样，优雅地，默默地，不动声色地讲述。它不会让你捧腹大笑，整部电影没似乎没什么笑点，但细细回想起来，一个落魄的中年老男人的各种失态却会让人忍俊不禁。英国人颇爱调侃，带着一种风轻云淡的贵族气质，竟把一个细想起来辛酸又无奈的人生故事讲得这般风趣，是骨子里流着莎士比亚的血吧。

一次本该温情脉脉的共叙往事的午宴，却在他的满脑子神游和酒后失态中草草收场，他一定觉得人品低爆了！可是你笑过之后可会惊醒？或许我们的人生也都是这样，带着后悔，带着遗憾，带着自欺，七分醉，三分醒，晃晃悠悠就老啦！

睡前看了这部短篇《午宴之歌》，接下来仿佛整晚的梦里都是关于这部电影，醒来后再也无法入睡，所以干脆爬起来把由此引发的感触付诸于文字，于是有了以下这篇观后感。

影片一开始，那独特的旁白便深深吸引了我，它细腻的捕捉到了男主人公每一个细微的心理变化，并用精准而富有诗意的语言将其表达出来。从影片开篇的铺垫已经能猜到电影的主题，男主人公来到十五年前最爱的一家意大利餐厅，原本想找回藏在心里多年的记忆，而却发现很多东西已然物是人非：餐厅周围的街巷，内部的装饰，忙碌的服务生，用餐的客人，桌上的桌布，以及简易的菜单，所有这一切看起来都是如此陌生。对着满屋子陌生的男男女女，他不禁感慨：“时间虽如白驹过隙，对这群充满生机的年轻人而言却如此悄无声息不为人知……”

在我们的生活中何尝不曾遇到类似的场景——当你来到某些熟悉的不能再熟悉的地方，虽然多年未达，却在梦中常常神游至此，但看到眼前的景致，你不得不感慨时过境迁，在你的记忆里它永远是那个样子，而在现实中却一点一点被时间改变着，直至面目全非……每当这样的时候，你会发现，它的变化带给你内心的震颤，要远远大于那些不变的——或说你以为未变的带给你的惊喜……

随着女主人公的出现，这种物是人非的陌生感便继续升级——“熟悉的唇唇相依，却还有些什么不同。每处变化，都使他的记忆越发清晰。”她的相貌变化或许并不大，但当她开口称赞这间餐厅的变化，并称之为“改进”时，着实刺痛了他的心——她竟然对那些他难以接受的改变表示欣喜，这一细微的意见上的冲突让他感到不悦，甚至有些气急败坏。其实这一细节已经暗示了后面更多的冲突，也揭示了造成后面的尴尬和悲伤最本质的问题：She was moving on, but he was still there ——她已经随着时间向前行，而他却始终被困在过去，或者更确切的说，困在自己的回忆之中。

然而这只是开始，因为这一差异，接下来所发生的一切更加让他更加感到心痛。他所期盼的在经历了多年之后仍然留存在感情中的温存，逐一被打破。这或许是最让人绝望的事情：朝思幕想的人就在眼前，你们之间只有一张桌子的距离，然而四目相对，你却感觉到她如此遥远，前所未有的遥远。因为这距离不是空间上的距离，而是时间上的。

由此，他们的谈话很难谈得上投机，这一切对他而言似乎是那么的难以接受，于是他将对她的依恋转化到对杯中的酒。“酒与舌之间有一种亲密联结，一种强烈的相互吸引，它们彼此互补，它们深切相爱。当两者相遇时，瞬间产生出极值的快感……”于是他渐渐喝醉了。于是后来的情形越发不可收拾，原本期待多年的一场会面，竟然以如此悲惨而尴尬的方式收场。

影片的最后，那已经年迈得让人几乎辨认不出的餐馆儿老板Massimo，为整部片又增添了几分戏剧性。他的变化仿佛也同男女主人公之间的感情一样，变得面目全非。

不得不赞叹导演对男主人公的情感细致入微的而又极其到位的把握，将其心情的跌宕起伏、期盼与失落表现得淋漓尽致丝丝入扣。倘若早知道这样的结局，大概他一早便不会发出这样的邀请，约她见面。两人早就说好不再回首往事，但他禁不住诱惑——来源于美好回忆的诱惑——而主动约了她。对于已经翻过那一页的她而言，这不算什么，于是便欣然接受邀请，并能够在席间表现得足够优雅得体。而对于他而言，就没那么容易了，他始终沉浸在过去中，或说他自己营造的世界中，走不出来。有谁曾经说过，最美的爱情其实是一个人的故事。对此我表示认同。在一个人的世界里，没有两个人的冲突，没有人会冒出来打破美好的意境，没有在对方说出不尽如人意的话语时带给人的刺痛，没有爱情变质带来的失落，有的只是基于某个人所产生的美好想像，而这种想像——只要想像力够丰富的话，可以无穷无尽。因此——在看过这部片后再一次得出的结论：相见不如怀念——让那些美好的过往永远埋藏在心底，而不要轻易拿出来将它撕破。

  因为哈利波特中的斯内普教授，开始迷上Alan Rickman，因为迷上Alan Rickman的声音，开始看更多的英国电影。似乎大部分打着“英国制造”标志的电影都有一种与生俱来的沉静，一如英伦淑女绅士见面时的点头致意，再浓烈的情感也多半只保存在一个人心中，隐忍而无声。《午宴之歌》在众多英国电影中可谓代表了典型的英国性格。但将【电影】这张名片加之又略微牵强，因为它只是一部45min的drama。取材自Christopher Reid柯斯达（costa）文学奖获奖诗歌，用制作者的话说，它展现了“Christopher Reid的全部智慧，诡计和人道”。这话的确是句一针见血的概括，由百分之八十的诗朗诵般独白支撑起的45min，细节的描摹可以精致到变态，跳跃的思维亦是一种冷静的神经质。

  这并不是一个复杂的故事。男主角——天命之年却庸碌的无名编辑— —在昔日的餐厅约会15年前旧情人的一次午宴。一如那句烂俗的情话：分手后，你是不是过得比我好？15年后的女主角，贤妻良母，养尊处优。于是本应互诉衷肠的午宴变成宴无好宴的闹剧，只能以男主角的狼狈仓皇而黯然收场。而两位老戏骨，Alan Rickman和Emma Thompson，绝对称得上英格兰国宝级影星，虽然演的只是连姓名都不知道的“他”和“她”，从眉宇到嘴角的不着痕迹，讲述关于时间与情感的哲学命题。

  不得不承认，诗化的影像总是太过细腻而凌乱，连看两遍《午宴之歌》，能让我记住的都还是只言片语的画面。

【His trusty blue pen can snooze with its cap on.】
这是个颇有点“偷得浮生半日闲”的句子，画面里的他脚步匆忙而不急促，满心渴望辉映故作姿态的矜持，还有那么一星心虚的惶恐，仅凭这点，他绝对不是个可爱的老男人。

【How long has it been? Five years? Six years? Ten? Fifteen.】
光阴似流水这话不假，Massimo和他的pirate crew连影子都找不到，从前熙熙攘攘的意式餐厅如今整洁的更像医院，面无表情的侍者更像看惯生死的医生护士。他想要一份酒单，面无表情的侍者直接翻到纸张粗糙的菜谱反面。一开始确实有些讨厌老男人的矫情，转念又觉得凄凉，15年光景已经把过往的情调侵蚀到仿佛一张薄薄的菜单，上面写满毫无温度的快餐名字。

【He commands-nice word-a clear view of the entrance, lit contre-jour so that each new arrival, new candidate for his notice, appear to step from brightness to bathos with an tacit apology. Sorry I’m not…】
不过他还是在嘴唇与红酒的亲吻中错过她从阳光走进阴影的瞬间，于是他惊惶、手足无措。像个孩子，穿上自己最好的衣服等待露天演出，然后突然来了一场倾盆大雨。他们点菜，他照旧一脸厌烦的开始抱怨，而她则更圆滑与老练的请求侍者为她推荐。他小心翼翼让她高脚杯中的红酒与自己的持平，他们像从前一样互相品尝对方的午餐……他透过酒杯和红色的液体，偷偷望向杯底，那双藏在他心底的“精灵之眼”。

【Skulking at dusk in her prim grey square, address folded in his raincoat pocket, with no real intention of ringing the doorbell, yet unable to depart. Until the horrible shock of the pigeon, an entire flock rising at some scare into the diminished light, like a thousand umbrellas simultaneously opening, and tell him to go.】
他称这是生命里唯一一次“疯狂”，当巴黎的街景渐渐湮灭在暮色中，脑海里挥之不去一个想象的、被细密的雨打湿肩头，睫毛间夹着水珠，倒映眼神中落寞与无奈，最终踽踽独行在陌生的街区，游离而空洞。承认这是整部电影中我最爱的一分钟，灰白喑哑的色调，安静的钢琴一个音符一个音符闲逛，时间黏稠到几乎停滞，或许真的停下了最好，这样他就可以伫立在她的窗前，一眼万年。

  作为一个理想主义的观众，我没法记住他和她的争吵，太过杂碎而现实。或许人到中年，浪漫就变成了奢侈品，即便是15年未曾谋面的爱人，她也会毅然宣称自己的手腕已经有了主人。她埋怨他精神涣散、话语刻薄、心智消沉，可她自己又何尝不是？为他多看了女侍应的玲珑曲线忍不住发起牢骚，纠结在他的回忆录里她是怎样的角色。之于他，是缺失家庭感而精神上歇斯底里的老单身汉；之于她，是衣食无忧但掩盖不住岁月带来灵魂衰老的中年女人。总之，他和她都不可爱。

  犹然印象深刻结尾那个面无表情，呆滞的坐在打烊餐厅里行尸走肉一遍的那个人，Massimo，十五年前他还是觥筹交错间穿梭如鱼的店老板，十五年后已然脱了人形如同灵魂被抽离身体。相比之下，他和她，是不是也算命运的幸运儿了呢？电影名为《午宴之歌》，中国亦有古话“无酒不成席”，只是他的两瓶红酒与一杯白兰地，并没有让十五年来的故事化作从喉头缓缓滑向胃里的一缕温润，也没有浓烈到引爆一切、吞噬万物的助燃剂，而是愈沉愈无味，愈久愈嘶哑，直到呕哑嘲哳，颓唐而残破，唱不出一首完整的歌……